


Watch Over Me

by fandomens (gentlewhumping)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Backstory, Betaed, Biblical Reinterpretation, Canon Compliant, Canon Levels of Ouch, Could Be Canon, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Feels, Friendship/Love, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Memory Loss, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Prequel, Protective Crowley, Sad Ending, Slow Build, To Be Continued, What Have I Done, a little angst just a touch for flavor, but he doesnt actually fall, but he isnt actually a human, check them out its hilarious stuff, i promise this isnt crack, i've grown numb to my fic from gratuitous editing so idek if its sad or not anymore, im too emotionally fragile to kill anyone, kinda light hearted but not really, no matter how crack my tags are, no one dies, the POVs are a bit wonky because im incompetent, they both live it's fine i promise, yes i ripped a bunch of tags straight from twitter user @neatao3tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlewhumping/pseuds/fandomens
Summary: Time passes quite differently for angels and demons than for humans. Years for us is merely a week or so to them. This is on account of their age; after all, being around for thousands of years and feeling it as a human would likely drive any being mad. That being said, the past 6,000 years had felt, in comparison to human time, more like 200 or so years to our ethereal companions.So when Aziraphale mentioned to Crowley that the days had begun to feel quite long, it should have been a cause for great concern, if only either of them had understood the implications. As it was, however, neither of them did understand, yet, and Crowley's simple reply of 'bored of the peace already?' seemed fitting enough to the both of them. It was more fitting than either of them knew, as peace of mind would soon be hard to find.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i want to shout out my beta readers for being so awesome and patient with this work! tumbler users @myblackeyedboy and @hoens-beta (aka NocturnalAlien on ao3)

Aziraphale was visiting Madame Tracy. He found it nice to pop in and chat with her, as they both found each other's eccentricities to be heartwarming. She was one of the only humans who remembered the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't, alongside the others who were at the airbase that day. But that was not what they discussed. Instead they spoke of lighter matters over biscuits and tea.  


They spoke of Shadwell adjusting to life in a cottage quickly and pleasantly, and of Crowley causing an entire restaurant chain to go out of business due to Aziraphale having received a rather undercooked seafood dish. They spoke of these things as though they were old friends, because even though it had only been a few weeks since the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't, sharing a body does bring two souls together in wondrous ways.  


But Aziraphale heard the sound of an engine revving, and bid her good day, because Crowley was not a patient creature.  


"You're early," Aziraphale said as he sat in the passenger seat of the restored Bentley.  


"Oh? Well, feel free to stay, I could always pop up to Scotland, see what ruckus I can whip up."  


Aziraphale scoffed. "Don't they get up to enough mischief on their own? No no, I'm already in, might as well head back."  


"Your call, angel." Crowley grinned. "Oh, by the way," he said in a voice that could be described as off-handed, if one didn't know better as Aziraphale did, "I saw someone out and about today."  


"And who might that have been?"  


"Rowling."  


Aziraphale tutted. "Oh you- Did you make her publish some tidbit on the internet again?"  


"Well what else am I to do?" Crowley positively glowed with pride. "You wanna know what I got her to tweet?"  


"Tweet?"  


"Yes tweet- of course you do, she tweeted that McGonagall has in fact, as a cat, had full interc-"  


"Crowley _please_, I don't have the heart for this." Aziraphale looked sickened. "What is your obsession with that poor woman and her books?"  


"Well, you know, she's just such a character already, it's easy to just... convince her to post the things she's already thought about. And the reactions from her followers? It's priceless, angel."  


"My dear boy, I can think of a great many priceless things, and that is not one of them." Aziraphale, by this point, looked as though he truly was going to vomit. 

"Must you drive so errantly? I'll positively faint if this continues."  


Now it should be said that Aziraphale certainly doesn't have to ride with Crowley. He could easily teleport home, or catch a bus, or anything else. He chooses to ride with Crowley because it was something that Crowley enjoys, and Aziraphale's admonishment of his driving was more for show than anything else. It was routine by this point. This, however, was not that. Crowley looked over to Aziraphale to see someone who truly did appear to be rather ill, and he slowed.  


"Aziraphale what's wrong? You look all... blegh."  


"I'm quite fine, I just feel a bit queasy."  


Crowley splutters. "Wh- I mean- Is that even something Angels _can_ feel??"  


"Apparently so,” Aziraphale deadpanned. He closed his eyes. "It's how I felt when I got discorporated, and when I possessed Madame Tracy. But then I also felt queasy on that ship in '05."  


Which '05 he meant, we may never know, but Crowley seemed to. "Well two of those could mean trouble, and the other is just a fluke, ordinary sickness, so which isss it this time? Are you about to be flung out of your vessssel?" His grip tightened on the wheel as he spoke, the sudden stress causing him to over-enunciate his S’.  


"I'm quite certain that is not the case." Aziraphale replied, eyes still shut. "At any rate, resting my eyes has seemed to help. I might just take a quick nap."  


Naps were not an uncommon thing for either of them to indulge in. Similar to food, they didn't need it, but it was a nice little luxury to enjoy when they were in the mood. In fact, neither has enjoyed a nap since before the beginning of the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't, so both were overdue for one.  


"Would you like a bed?" Crowley asked, and before bothering to hear Aziraphale’s reply, he waved a hand and they were back at the bookshop, upstairs in a small room, cluttered with a dusty desk, an old canopy bed, and a large ornate wardrobe.  


"Ah, how lovely." Aziraphale smiled, looking around the familiar room approvingly. He unbuttoned his coat and hung it on a peg. "Don't get up to anything too heinous whilst I'm away." He always spoke of sleeping as though he were going on a trip. In a way, he was.  


"C'mon, you know me." Crowley flashed his teeth in what could be called a smile or a threat, from another’s perspective, and sauntered out of the room.  


Two and a half days later, Aziraphale woke up feeling every bit his former self. He phoned Crowley, who promptly invited him to dinner at Ladurée.  


"Is that a temptation?" Aziraphale asked, in rather good spirits. French cuisines were among his favorites.  


"I was thinking more of an enticement really,” Crowley replied.  


"Well, either way, I should very much like to accept the offer." Aziraphale chuckled lightly. "Shall we say, eight o'clock then?" It was 7:52.  


"A reservation miraculously appeared for a party of two, eight sharp."  


"Marvelous, I'll ready myself. Meet there?" Aziraphale wasn't quite confident enough to face the Bentley again.  


"If you like." Crowley hung up.  


Aziraphale straightened his coat, smoothing out the sleeves and fussing with the buttons, before running his hand through his hair in what could barely be considered a tidying motion. He took a moment to finish waking up with a content sigh, and then walked out the door of his bedroom, and into the door of a beautifully lit restaurant, held wide by a lovely hostess.  


Crowley was only just being seated, and Aziraphale let the hostess know who he was with. She led him over to the table and a waiter took their drink orders- a bottle of red wine, no, make it two. Crowley then asked for the pair to be left alone with a menu, to which the staff obliged.  


"So angel, how was your little get away?"  


"That's something I should ask you! No one to keep you in check, what commotion have you caused, hm?"  


"None at all, you asked me not to! It's only been a short while, I'm hurt you'd make such assumptions, really angel I am." Crowley pouted.  


Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow and sipped his wine. All was quiet for a moment, before Aziraphale asked another question.  


"Ready to order then?"


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley cursed himself for not having seen it sooner.  


After that strange occurrence, Crowley had kept a closer eye on Aziraphale. And he began noticing little things that added up to something bigger. Angels don't get queasy, don't get tired, don't get hungry, don't get forgetful. Aziraphale himself didn't seem to have noticed what was happening, but as Crowley sat across the shop from Aziraphale, watching the angel work, he made up his mind to solve this puzzle. Of course he wouldn't try to solve it alone, but how does one bring up to an angel that, after 6000 years, something about them is drastically different?  


Aziraphale sighed and shut his book, took off his glasses, and pinch the bridge of his nose, scrunching up his nose and brows. "Crowley dear, you really mustn't think so loudly. You're distracting me terribly."  


“Oh? My bad." He replied in a noncommittal tone.  


There was a beat of silence.  


"Well, are you going to tell me what you are thinking so fiercely of?"  


"Oh, yeah, nothing really, just trivials and bits and pieces, no noteworthy events," Crowley sputtered incomprehensibly. "You know, the usual, demonic thoughts, dark agey situations, speaking of the dark ages, those were easy times to be evil, eh? But then I suppose things change, like how you've changed, which isn’t something that should… so have the shops, by the way, now they're all too well lit, used to be just candles. Not that that’s very safe, but still. The aesthetic value outweighs the risk in my opinion." There, he said it. With all the elegance a being like Crowley could muster.  


Aziraphale, having dealt with this for long enough to know what's what, understood what was really important out of Crowley's spiel.  


"I've changed? How so?" he asked, looking down at himself. "I haven't changed anything recently, at least not since our little switcheroo."  


"No, not _physically_." Crowley rolled his eyes. "I mean _you_, your angelic self." Aziraphale's eyes narrowed in confusion, so Crowley thought he better explain himself better. "You've started acting all, human-y. Food, sleep, that carsickness you had- none of it's normal!"  


Aziraphale hesitated. "I've always enjoyed food,” he said slowly, obviously intent on being as bull headed as possible.  


"Yes, but you see angel, you've never _needed_ it,” Crowley said, seeing understanding growing in the angel’s eyes despite his reluctance.  


"...Until now. I've started eating quite regularly haven't I? And sleeping. Used to be every few weeks but now..."  


Aziraphale had slept three times in the past week. His eyes widened. Crowley could almost hear the ignorant bliss being swept away into an entirely new mindframe.  


“Oh,” he breathed.  


Crowley hated the sound of that. "Oh?"  


"B-but I'm still able to perform miracles, so it's not too late!" Aziraphale said excitedly.  


"Too late, too late for what?"  


Aziraphale spun about an aisle of books before grabbing two different texts and shoving them towards the demon. "I'm falling, my dear." Aziraphale said it grimly, and motioned towards the books he had selected.  


"Falling? How- that makes no sssense, you can't-"  


"Not that sort of falling, I'm afraid." Aziraphale cut him off. "The Book of Enoch. Inaccurate in many, many ways, but accurate in one."  


Crowley's eyes widened from behind his shades. He reached for one of the books, titled An Analysis of 1 Enoch.  


"Wait, you're telling me that watchersss are a thing?!" Crowley exclaimed. "Like real life angels-turned-human. I thought those were just a story made up as a heavenly scare tactic. You think thisss isss what's happening?"  


"You do have such a way of simplifying things. No, it's not just a story, and yes, essentially, I will become all but human if this isn't stopped."  


Crowley stared at him owlishly. He couldn’t begin to fathom Aziraphale as a human, and he certainly didn’t want it to think of it becoming a reality. Being human meant a 100% increased chance of dying, which Crowley also did not want to think of. "Well then how do we do that?"  


"I'm not sure, but I might have the beginnings of an idea."  


That had not been the response he was hoping for.  


"Are you even sure we can stop it?" he asked, tense. Aziraphale did not reply, instead choosing to bury his nose in the second book laying on the table, Enoch Manuscript, Revision 1754.  


Crowley continued to stare at him for a long moment, before hesitantly opening his own book, presumingly to learn all he could about these 'watchers.'  


See, Aziraphale had spent so much time on Earth that he wasn't caught up on the who's and where's and when's of the other angels. Aziraphale had obviously heard of watchers, but he hadn't researched them very deeply, because, well frankly he never thought it would be of use or interest to him. They all presumably died by the hundredth year of humanity. No more fell after that. It had been an interesting read some 5,500 years ago, but that had been it.  


But times change and now he simply needed to know as much as possible. And Crowley, well, he had been a demon since the beginning of humanity, before watchers could have existed, so naturally he was unfamiliar with the nuances of the angelic phenomenon.  


Not even ten minutes passed before Crowley asked "Ssso, which human was it?"  


"Beg pardon?"  


"Saysss here watchers fall because they were too 'intimate' with humansss." Crowley chuckled, the final s in his sentence shuddering off his tongue. "Wouldn't have pegged you assss the one to choose relations over holiness."  


Aziraphale scoffed, cheeks ever so slightly dusted pink. "Intimacy can mean more than that, my dear. I fear I may have grown too fond of humanity and all their quirks in my time here."  


"Well, what could anyone expect, you've been here so long." Crowley grinned and leaned in closer to Aziraphale. "Wasss it William?"  


"Shakespeare?? Oh heavens no!" Aziraphale looked scandalized. "He was far too... too much for my liking." He sniffed.  


"Ah, don't like the overly affectionate type, hm?" Crowley's grin was becoming a bit more twisted. He had leaned his upper body across the table, one arm flailed dramatically and the other supporting his head. "Come on, I'm a demon, not like I have a place to judge."  


Aziraphale shifted in his seat, very pointedly not looking at Crowley. Then, sticking his nose in the air pompously, said, "It wouldn't be a matter of which human, but which _humans_."  


Crowley's mouth fell open and he sat up slightly. He snapped it closed again and whistled. "Why, how _devilish_ you are, blue eyes."  


"Either or, it wouldn't be from just that, or this would've began much, much sooner." Aziraphale pointedly ignored Crowley's lewd noise that stood in for a response. "It's likely because I've grown comfortable down here, what with the food, the machines, the people... I've-" he remembered what Gabriel had said "-grown soft."  


"Well, maybe the rest of it, but machines? Angel, you still use a landline, not to mention it's a rotary."  


Aziraphale gave him a small glare that, if a glare could speak, would have said _'that's not the POINT you wind bag.'_ If Crowley wasn't a demon, he would have likely been shamed into an apology, but because he was in fact a demon there was no apology to be had, and at any rate Aziraphale was not really expecting one.  


"Let’s not focus on the why, let's just focus on stopping it, yes?" He huffed. "And why haven't we met these 'watchers' before, hm? You'd think they'd have sought me out, being Earthbound angels and all..."  


Crowley softened at that. "The Earth is a big place, angel. It's not like you've always been easy to track down. You only set up this shop a couple hundred years ago. Before that we were practically nomadic."  


"That's true." Aziraphale conceded. "And if they only had human lifespans, I suppose that would've only made it harder."  


"Right, I mean we hardly saw each other at all in the start of this all."  


Aziraphale simply hummed in reply, and turned another page.


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale fell asleep slumped onto the table, using his book as a pillow. As he snored softly, Crowley stared at him, brow furrowed. He still looked the same, he still sounded the same, he still smelled the same, but... he _felt_ different to the demon. He couldn't place it, couldn't even begin to explain it, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he was that something was off.  


Crowley's reading had taught him three important things that were likely true, if the angelic footnotes and corrections were anything to go off of. One, Aziraphale had started to 'go native' (so it was worded in the texts) because of his time on Earth, which they already knew, but was disheartening for Aziraphale to hear again nonetheless. Two, preventing further changes, and even reversing many of the effects was possible, which Aziraphale was pleased to hear. Three, that prevention would require the angel to return to Heaven, permanently. Being near to humanity risked reverting to their previous state and continuing to fall. Aziraphale had fallen asleep before Crowley had made that third discovery, however, and he was not keen on waking his companion up to deliver such news. But he knew that, one way or another, he would have to inform the angel of his findings, Aziraphale had been sleeping for a few hours now anyway, and Crowley was terribly tired of the quiet and the _reading_. He only read when he had to, and although this certainly counted as a 'had to' situation, that doesn't mean he had to enjoy it.  


" 'Ziraphel get up" he said, and then cringed visibly at his own voice. It was thick and wobbly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Wake up, angel," he said much louder, causing Aziraphale to blink his eyes open. "Leaving me to do all the work... Well you'll be pleased to know I found a solution to your little problem."  


Aziraphale, who had up to this point still been trying to blink the sleep from his eyes and regain his wits, froze when he heard those words.  


"Oh really? You mean it? Well out with it then, what must I do??" Aziraphale was practically fluttering in joy. Crowley was not.  


"You'd have to go back to Heaven,” he stated simply. "And you'd have to stay there, of course. Surrounded by celestial might and all that, to ensure no further human-ness could meaningfully impact you." Crowley was no longer looking at Aziraphale, so he couldn't see the beginnings of despair settle across the angel's face. He continued, "I'm sure you could pop down once every few decades or so, just for a quick look around, if you were keen on it, but then why chance it? Anyways, it's very clear in this book here that Heaven is the only place where you can stay consistently without turning into a watcher."  


Aziraphale was quiet, and Crowley finally refocused his gaze into him. The angel looked broken down and entirely disheartened.  


"Well then," Aziraphale said quietly, "I suppose you'll be expecting me to return to Heaven."  


Crowley opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a garbled noise of affirmation.  


"Then you'd be quite mistaken, my dear boy." Aziraphale's voice was soft and sad. Crowley just stared at him. "I can't return to heaven, the other angels wouldn't have it, not with what happened with the Apocalypse and the attempted execution and all."  


"They are well terrified of you, mate, what're they gonna do, tell you 'no??' They'd probably just give you a wide berth, if I'd had to hazard a guess." Crowley had stood up and began pacing.  


Aziraphale shook his head. "Well, I certainly don't want to spend eternity up there, with those- those- bullies."  


Crowley felt anger bubble up inside him. He tried to stamp it down and say, calm as you like, "Are you ssssitting there telling me you'd rather wasssste away into nothing rather than sssspend a little quality time in the cloudsss?" He never was very good at hiding how he was feeling. Hissing when upset seemed completely unavoidable, even with all his practice.  


"I- No, of course that's not what I'm saying!" Aziraphale replied loudly. By this time he had risen from his seat as well. "I'm saying that spending an eternity in misery sounds like a fate worse than-" he abruptly stopped.  


"... Death." Crowley finished for him, saying the word as though it were poisonous. "Well, congratssss angel, that'sss the trade."  


"Would you want to have to spend eternity in Hell, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, thinking he already knew the answer.  


Crowley chose not to reply to that, and instead offered a tight lipped smile, fiddling with the edge of his shades, and cleared his throat. "Well, looks like my work here is done, I'm going home to tend to my plantssss. Give you some time to... reconsssssider." The last word was said as he slammed the door to the bookshop, and reverberated throughout the building.  


If one prodded a certain English woman who had been in the area about that particular night, she would say that she had been considering going on a date, and had heard a strange voice tell her to reconsider. She hadn't gone, and it turned out that the guy had been, in her words, 'a real wanker.'  


A stray dog nearby had been about to piss on a signpost, but reconsidered and opted for a bush. Of course, one can't very well ask him, unless one is a rare and extremely talented individual, so these words will have to suffice.  


Despite these and other reconsiderations that temporarily took hold of that little section of Soho, Aziraphale did not want to, nor feel the need to, reconsider. He instead felt determined to find another way, a way that did not involve uprooting his comfortable lifestyle and throwing him back into a place that wanted nothing to do with him, and vice versa.  


While Aziraphale pulled more books and did more research, Crowley sped through a miraculously empty street, back to his own home, blasting music as loud as he pleased (which was quite deafening). He would later deny it vehemently, but a tear had snuck its way out of the corner of his eye, rolling for a moment before being blown away by the gusts of wind flinging through the Bentley's lowered windows. He had been upset previously because he thought that Aziraphale would quickly agree to go back to heaven to preserve himself, and Crowley had thought he might be able to convince the angel to stop by occasionally, just to ensure Crowley didn't do anything too heinous. Sure, it would be a bit lonely, and very different without the angel around, but what other choice was there? So yes, the thought had upset him considerably.  


But Aziraphale had surprised Crowley by blatantly rejecting any notion of returning to heaven, and thereby sentencing himself to death, without even a second thought. The book had been very clear, there was no other way for Aziraphale to preserve himself, and the longer it took Aziraphale to see that and return to Heaven, the further and further he fell.  


And Crowley found that to be quite a selfish thing for the angel to do. Because despite Aziraphale's beliefs, Crowley would in fact rather spend eternity in Hell or Heaven, if it meant... not dying. Not ending their arrangement. Not leaving someone utterly alone in the universe, 'spending an eternity in misery,' as Aziraphale put it, even if they are meant to be his mortal enemy and all that.  


Crowley, one might know by now, was usually the more emotional one of the two, and he had a penchant for romanticizing situations he found himself in. So although he imagined himself acting a certain way in a reversed situation, it's impossible to know for sure whether it would play out just so in reality. Either way, this is what he believes, and thus it is his reality.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a week, certainly long enough for Crowley to water his plants, but he had not returned to the shop. Aziraphale found himself a bit lonesome for company. A week should have been nothing to an immortal entity such as himself, but he had recently felt himself and the world around him slowing down, and it was entirely unpleasant.  


Aziraphale hadn't yet found another way to avoid becoming a watcher, but he did find something else worth exploring. There were only three watchers that he could confirm existed. One was named Armaros, who had fallen long ago, and he had written down his experience. Aziraphale discovered this through the angelic footnotes in a book listing supposed watchers (honestly, humans made up so much that more than half the book was inked over with the word FALSE or DEMON in bold font, and the rest so heavily edited he couldn't make out the names. Aziraphale wanted to have strong words with the last angel who had handled this book... or maybe he didn't, seeing as he was now an enemy to Heaven and all that). Armaros had a small scribble next to his name that simply stated 'see his novella' and Aziraphale smiled. He didn't have the novella in his library, and was quite certain it wasn't in Heaven's, but he was a procurer of obscure texts, and searching for rare writings was his specialty.  


He considered phoning Crowley to let him know of his discovery, but changed his mind before his hand even touched the phone. Crowley had been so very upset the last time they spoke, and Aziraphale didn't want to be lectured about having false hope, or possibly worse, ignored. Aziraphale was hopeful by nature, and this business of finding Armaros' old writings seemed just the sort of thing that needed hope. He wasn't certain what the book would contain, but Aziraphale was sure it could be nothing but beneficial.  


And so with that, Aziraphale put on his coat and stepped out of his shop. He knew of a young lady who might be able to help.  
Anathema had retired to a life of normalcy, but her version of 'normal' was really quite exotic, and Aziraphale found himself genuinely intrigued by her. After all, not every day does an angel get to have the honor of socializing with a witch!  


Anathema would surely know of a strange foreign book, right? And if she didn't, she would likely help him look. Strange and/or supernaturally imbued literature was a common ground between the two after all.  


When Aziraphale arrived at Anathema's cottage he rang the bell, but heard no ring. He gave a small chuckle, recalling Anathema's complaints about Newt's ability to break truly anything electrical, and rapped on the door instead. When she answered, Aziraphale very nearly regretted coming at all. The young witch appeared furious, and opened her mouth to likely yell at her visitor, before stopping abruptly and blinking repeatedly.  


"Oh, Aziraphale. It's you," she stated matter of factly. She peeked behind his shoulder. "Anyone else out there? Crowley? The neighbors??"  


"I'm afraid it's just me today, Miss Device." Aziraphale said, shifting slightly under her suspicious gaze.  


"Good, come in, I've only just put the kettle on, so we can have tea if you'd like. Or coffee, do you drink coffee?"  


"Tea is fine for today, thank you." Aziraphale was ushered through the door, past the foyer, and into the living room without a pause, and just as quickly found himself alone as Anathema disappeared into the kitchen. Aziraphale considered what to do for a moment before setting down his books on the coffee table and approaching the entrance to the kitchen.  


"Are you quite alright, miss?"  


Anathema was waist deep in her food cupboard, but popped out quickly at Aziraphale's voice. "Oh, yes, at least, I will be. The neighbors keep bothering me about the smells from my house but what am I supposed to do about it? It's just the ingredients and if anything it's as good for them as it is me. It's silly to cover up a smell that is intentionally being made."  


Aziraphale had no earthly (or heavenly, for that matter) idea what the girl was talking about, but he was relieved to know that he wasn't the source of her ire.  


"Right, well, if you have the time between neighbors and... smells... I thought perhaps you'd like to discuss some reading material," he said. He wasn't sure exactly how much of his situation he wanted to give away yet, but Anathema would be the one to tell if ever there were a human in whom he could confide. Anathema worked out quickly that Crowley was a demon, and it only followed that Aziraphale told her of his true nature. Fortunately, she was a rather good secret keeper, and it stayed between them (and Adam... and Madame Tracy... and partly Shadwell, he supposed...); at the very least, Newt didn't know, and everybody involved agreed that it would suit him just fine to remain in the dark. He had enough on his plate being engaged to a witch.  


"What kind?" she asked whilst flinging items out onto her counter. A bottle started rolling off the counter, and Aziraphale smiled. The bottle rolled in a circle, and stopped a foot away from the edge.  


"Angel lore. Actually, angel history. Old stuff, very rare," he said, and as he suspected, that shifted her attention from her cupboard to him.  


"Really? Angels keep records and history books? And you want me to read them??" Her eyes and her smile seemed to be fighting to see who could grow bigger. "Well let's get on with it then, I've been asking you to share stories for ages now."  


And she had been. Aziraphale almost felt bad for using her curiosity for personal gain, but reasoned that it would satisfy her want for knowledge, so it really wasn't wrong of him.  


"Yes well, I wanted to focus on a specific piece of history, granted you'll need a bit of context..." Anathema brushed past him as he spoke, and he followed her back into the living room. She was already hunched over the books and texts he brought, tea (and items on her counter) long forgotten.  


By the time Anathema was caught up to the events surrounding Aziraphale's visit, and the true nature of it, it had begun to darken outside, and Newt had arrived home with dinner for himself and Anathema.  


"If I had known you were going to be here I would've picked up something more," Newt apologized.  


"Nonsense, I dropped by unexpectedly and kept you both from your afternoon. I should be going, at any rate," Aziraphale said in return, rising and collecting his books. "But you will keep an eye out for any sort of clue?" he asked Anathema.  


"Of course!" she replied. "I want this solved as soon as possible, I can't imagine the stress your going through."  


Aziraphale gave a tight lipped smile. "I honestly haven't let my mind wander quite that far yet, but thank you."  


When Aziraphale arrived home, he was surprised to see a tall shadowed figure moping in his armchair.  


"Crowley, what are you doing sitting here in the dark? Goodness, I can barely see anything." He flipped on the lights, and set his coat neatly on its hook. "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?"  


Crowley, to his credit, had been doing his very best to look like he was brooding, but the end result was far more reminiscent of sulking. He had arrived at the shop less than an hour ago, and deciding to simply wait on Aziraphale's return, and had set himself up rather comfortably in front of the fireplace.  


"I'm checking up on you,” he said, halfway turning to see Aziraphale, still puttering about the front of the shop. Crowley flung his legs over the arm of the chair. "Making sure you weren't yet human, all that."  


"Well, I don't plan on that happening, so you shouldn't bother checking for it," Aziraphale said, now feeling testy. And to think he had been glad to see Crowley moments before! "If that's the only reason you are here, then feel free to leave again." He regretted the words immediately after they left his mouth, so he followed up with, "But I _do_ hope you'll stay. I was just thinking of a rather lovely bottle of Rothschild, and it'd be a shame to open it alone."  


Crowley, in the end, after much grumbling, naturally agreed to stay, and late into the night the two sat peacefully by the fire.


	5. Chapter 5

When Crowley woke the next morning, he was immediately aware of the fact that he had fallen asleep with the alcohol still in his system. Unfurling his legs from underneath himself, he stretched out in the armchair where he had fallen asleep, and waved away his hangover. He glanced over to Aziraphale, who was likewise curled up in a chair, and waved away his hangover before he woke as well. He sighed and made himself more comfortable, picking up a book off the end table to try and kill some time until Aziraphale woke.  


His wait was short lived, however, as Aziraphale's phone rang loudly, giving both of them a start. Crowley answered, as Aziraphale was still trying to register waking up. The angel was beginning to tire of being woken up in such unwanted fashions.  


"A. Z. Fell and Co., what can I do ya for?" Crowley asked, sounding as disinterested as he felt.  


"Hey Crowley, it's me, I mean, Newt. Is Aziraphale there?" Newt's voice sounded distant, as though he was using an old phone. He likely was; they tended to be a bit more durable.  


"Halfway," Crowley replied lazily, watching the angel yawn and stretch. "We're just waking up."  


"You're- I mean, you both- oh, uh, right, well, I should probably just, uh, call back later then-"  


"What'd you call for, I can take a message." Crowley said, mirth floating in his words. He realized exactly what it sounded like when he said they were waking up, and he found the human's reaction comical. Aziraphale, by this time, had risen from the chair, and had wandered off upstairs, likely to change clothes, as the ones he slept in had become rather disheveled.  


"It's nothing urgent- what Ana? Alright- a bit urgent, actually, just that, he left one of his books here? Anathema has it, she's threatening to go rabid if he doesn't get it back. Something about angels?"  


Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Oh, he was over recently?"  


"Well yes, yesterday afternoon. He and Ana were going through old books together." Newt, the naive chap, wasn't able to hear the annoyance in Crowley's tone.  


"Ah, so he'd rather go yammer with a human rather than give me a call."  


"Uh, y- yes? Hold on, did you say huma-"  


Crowley hung up the phone, admittedly with more force than necessary, and went to find Aziraphale. He was in his bedroom, halfway finished getting dressed. He was wearing his usual slacks, and was in the process of buttoning up an off white (though some would debate light blue) long sleeve shirt. His hands paused for a moment when Crowley barged in, but he did not take his eyes off his own reflection in his mirror, and continued buttoning himself up after only a second.  


"Crowley, what are you doing? You know, it's quite rude to enter someone's bedroom pri-"  


"It's also rude to keep secrets, so I suppose we're even," Crowley said sharply, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway.  


"What in the world are you on about, my dear?" Aziraphale shrugged on his waistcoat. "I haven't kept anything from you, well since the whole ordeal with the Antichrist, but I told you I was _trying_ to contact you before I ha-"  


"Noooo, not that, I know about _that_, I'm talking about Anathema!"  


"Ana- Why, I went to visit her yesterday, but I didn't think you needed to know my constant whereabouts." By this time both were in a tizzy, and Aziraphale's bowtie and watch lay forgotten across his bed.  


"You were talking with her about this falling business, angel. I just got off the phone with Newt." Crowley's anger had begun to wean, replaced by sadness the more he thought about the situation. "Why wouldn't you call me? Obviously you found something more than what we first discovered, I've been stressed about this all week!"  


"Then why didn't you call?" While Aziraphale felt a little bad for Crowley, he was mostly annoyed at the demon's erratic behavior. "You are the one who stormed out all huffy, and you are the one who claimed there could be no alternative than to be sentenced to an eternity in heaven! So yes, I found something, but after a week of being well and thoroughly avoided, I didn't particularly believe you'd care."  


"Not care? _Not care??_ That’s rich, I was _'huffy'_ because you flat out said you were going to kill yourself, Aziraphale! Tell me, how would I _not_ be a bit pissed off at that, hm??"  


"I said no such thing! I said I refused to go back to Heaven after turning my back on it so completely. I chose you, and I chose Earth, and this is just... This is the result. I have to find another way."  


Crowley stared at Aziraphale in silence for a long enough time that the angel began to become flustered. "Crowley, I-"  


"I chose you, too, y'know. I'm hoping that choice lasts at least a few thousand more years." He said this quietly, as though he were admitting something very raw. It should have been expounded on, really, but Crowley continued on without allowing for such a pause. "We, emphasis on the WE, will do it your way, but the moment you show any sign of aging or wing trouble, I _will_ drag your holy arse up to the pearly gates myself. And I'm tired of arguing about it so don't bother trying." (These were, as the two had read previously, the final angelic qualities to disappear; eternal life and their wings.)  


Aziraphale released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you." He smiled at Crowley earnestly, openly, and repeated, "Thank you."  


Crowley fought his instinct to reject the gratitude. "Just- catch me up on what you've found."  


"It'd be better to say 'what I'm looking for.' It's an old journal that was kept by a watcher. I hope to glean some knowledge from their experience."  


"Well, I suppose we had better start looking for that journal. Oh, yeah, that reminds me, Newt said you left a book at his house last night." Crowley said off handedly.  


"Oh, I should go get that! I might need it if I'm to get anything done."  


"We," Crowley snapped.  


"Pardon?"  


"_We_ should go get it. We might need it if we are going to get anything done. This is no longer a _you_ problem, angel. You'd do best to remember that I have a stake in this, too."  


Aziraphale's eyes widened a fraction, and he could feel his face grow warm. "Right, of course, I wasn't thinking. My apologies. Then, would you drive?"  


"That's a two hour drive."  


"Well, I won't comment on your driving if that helps any."


	6. Chapter 6

Crowley had turned into a snake and sat curled up in front of the fireplace at Aziraphale's bookshop. When a customer came in, all he had to do was lift his head into their line of sight, and they would leave again, quick as you please. It was a bit of fun for Crowley, and a relief to Aziraphale's extensive library. There were, as there always are, a couple exceptions, and one of those was a young lady with green hair who attempted to pat Crowley on the head. He had reeled back at that, and looked pointedly at Aziraphale as if to say _'what the bloody hell is she doing?'_  


Aziraphale thankfully came to his rescue, as the lady had begun to inch closer. "He doesn't like to be touched."  


The girl turned to face the man. "Oh, you're the owner? You know it's, like, probably illegal to have him here. He's got a red belly. ‘Means he's venomous. And he's big, prolly against some size regulations."  


"All the more reason for you to avoid touching him. Now what brings you here today? Surely not a snake you couldn't have known about prior." Aziraphale shot Crowley a nasty look before saying, "Care to browse the shelves? I have quite a few interesting pieces."  


In the end, the girl did end up buying a book, although she had intended to buy many more. Aziraphale felt no guilt in manufacturing excuses for his precious Wilde collection, and had to compromise by letting go of a compilation of John Keats' work.  


"You owe me for that," Aziraphale said after the door closed behind her, turning the sign from open to close and locking the door. "I didn't have much by him to begin with, and now I've lost one of my favorite pieces."  


If a snake could pout, this one was. "What a sssssssshame." Crowley hissed, slithering his way from the floor up the side of the couch. He stretched out across the back of it, long enough that he still had to curl his lower body along the arm.  


"How are you? Hungry? Sssssleepy?" It had been almost a week, with no progress on finding the journal. The angel had begun sleeping every night now, and meals were a daily occurrence.  


"I'm feeling just fine, dear." Aziraphale replied encouragingly, and pet the snake on the back of the neck. "You shouldn't worry so much, I'll let you know if I need anything."  


Crowley simply lowered his head back onto the couch and allowed himself to settle down. Aziraphale sat on the couch, careful not to bump Crowley, and opened a book to waste away the afternoon.  


Aziraphale got through the majority of his book before his eyes began to grow heavy. He furrowed his brow; it was too early for him to be tired, wasn't it? It was only... oh. Time had slipped by much quicker than he expected, and it was already quite late. Late enough that he should have finished the book earlier, in normal circumstances. He shook his head slightly and rose from the couch, stretching. He must have been distracted while reading, sometimes that could happen when his mind was busy and flitting about. However, Aziraphale felt the exact opposite- he didn't feel distracted, in fact he felt like he had forgotten something, but couldn't quite tell what. He bookmarked his place and set the book on the coffee table, then meandered over to the fireplace to shut it off. He looked around the shop, trying to see if he could jog his memory, but found nothing out of sorts. He sighed and opted to simply turn in for the night. He shut out the shop lights and went upstairs, into his bathroom to wash up before laying down. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long moment, the feeling of missing something slowly growing more and more insistent. Eventually tearing his eyes away from his own troubled reflection, Aziraphale changed into his sleeping attire and shuffled into bed. He truly just wanted to sleep, whatever he was forgetting could wait until morning.  


Whatever...  


Forgetting...  


...  


...  


_Crowley._  


Aziraphale's eyes snapped open and his feet were flung over the side of his bed in the same instant.  


He had forgotten Crowley. Not that Crowley was, last he remembered, here, but that Crowley existed at all. This shook Aziraphale to his core. Thousands of years, memories, just plucked from his head for a bit, before being thrown back in. Crowley. Where was he? When did he leave? Aziraphale threw on his robe and slippers and went back downstairs as quick as possible, grabbing the phone and ringing Crowley.  


"Hey Aziraphale. Odd time to be calling, not that I'll complain."  


Aziraphale shuddered out a long breath in relief. "Crowley, you're alright."  


"Of course I am, what's wrong?"  


"I- Well, I'm not sure exactly." Aziraphale fidgeted. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid my memory has failed me. Around what time did you depart?"  


Crowley cursed under his breath on the other end of the line. "I left two or three hours ago, what do you mean your memories failing? You forgot when I left?"  


"Yes." Aziraphale made a choice to not tell Crowley the full truth; he could barely stand to think of it himself. "It seems I'll need to begin focusing on my surroundings a bit more now,” he said with a small nervous chuckle.  


He could hear Crowley curse some more under his breath, and the sound of rustling and banging about made Aziraphale have to hold the phone away from his ear a bit.  


"Crowley, what the heavens is all that noise?" Aziraphale asked, a touch annoyed.  


Instead of properly responding, Crowley just told Aziraphale, "Miracle up a spare bedroom, would ya? I'd like a place to sleep that isn't your couch." And hung up.  


Aziraphale tutted at that; he hated how Crowley always hung up so abruptly. He did what Crowley asked of him, though, and miraculously there was a second bedroom upstairs. The building groaned and complained a bit, but Aziraphale hushed it up and went to put on some proper bottoms, seeing as Crowley would be arriving shortly, and he would hate to be more underdressed than appropriate (though how appropriate his state of dress was in was an issue without a clear answer; after all, how does one dress when it's very late and you've hopped out of bed to phone a very very old friend and they decided they were going to sleep over?).  


When Crowley arrived, Aziraphale was surprised to see that the demon was wearing a set of black silk pajamas. It was a bit of a funny image, Crowley driving his Bentley in his pajamas, if it wasn’t for his cold expression. His sunglasses had apparently not made it onto his face, and the second he had entered the building, his eyes zeroed in on Aziraphale.  


"Alright, off to bed with you," Crowley said a bit too loudly. "I'll sleep tonight too, just make sure I'm up when you are."  


"Crowley, my dear boy, I-" Aziraphale wasn't sure how to address the large suitcase, duffel bag, and three small potted plants Crowley had brought with him. Crowley was in the midst of arranging the plants on a window sill. "I should ask, how long are you planning on staying?"  


Crowley looked at him as though he had missed something very obvious. Which, in Crowley's mind, he had. "As long as it takes for you to recover, angel,” he said, eyes softening. "Can't have you forgetting important things, like which books not to sell and whatnot."  


"I don't need a caretaker."  


"I know. I'm not your caretaker. I'm your-" Crowley paused. His mind scrambled to come up with the right words. "We're meant to watch out for each other, now, and that's what I intend to do,” he finally said.  


Aziraphale hesitated, and just as quickly relented. If Crowley was here with him, he certainly wouldn't forget him again. "Well, then, I suppose I ought to show you to the newly installed guest room."


	7. Chapter 7

Despite Aziraphale's near constant tittering, it was a relief that Crowley was there. He tried to hide it when he had a confusing bodily sensation he wasn't used to, but as secretive as Aziraphale was, Crowley was just as observant. Over the weeks, and then months, a pattern was formed.  


When he sneezed for the first time, Aziraphale was horrified. His second sneeze followed quickly after. When he told Crowley that something tickled his nose in a most unpleasant fashion, Crowley had immediately miracled the dust in the shop away, much to the angel's chagrin. But he didn't sneeze again.  


When Aziraphale's mouth felt dry and head hurt, he found Crowley by his arm with a glass of water. He took it begrudgingly, and a chilled water pitcher became a fixture in the bookshop. He drank a bit a day, and found that it prevented that particular unpleasant sensation.  


When Aziraphale began to grow uncomfortably warm, and he found himself perspiring for the first time, Crowley coaxed him out of his jacket, insisting that he have an air conditioning unit installed. Aziraphale, of course, refused to do so, and Crowley had to settle on convincing him to wear at least one less layer. He was still a bit warm, but far less uncomfortable.  


Of course Aziraphale knew about all of these human needs previously, but it is an entirely different thing to truly experience them. It made him feel very odd, very off, and very, very human. But he could live with all of it, if only he could maintain his memory.  


That is what he hid the most, and what he feared the most. His memories always rushed back, as though his hold was too tight to allow them to leave for good, but he knew the day would come when they wouldn't come back, unless he and Crowley found a way to stop it.  


It was so very distressing because of what specifically he continued to forget. It was Crowley, and Heaven, and Hell. Anything associated with the occult or ethereal, his mind seemed to be allowing to slip away.  


Aziraphale managed to hide the worst of it from Crowley, pretending to know what Crowley was talking about, or simply not speaking for awhile, until the memories came back. That is, until he forgot that he was supposed to know these things.  


Aziraphale stared at Crowley. Why was he wearing sunglasses? He was sure there was a reason, but he couldn't remember. They were indoors, in Aziraphale's dimly lit home for goodness sake. It seemed silly for Crowley to be wearing sunglasses. He couldn't remember why it mattered.  


"How can you see anything, wearing sunglasses like that,” he said, cutting off a previous conversation.  


"What?"  


"I just think it's rather redundant to wear shades inside," Aziraphale said offhandedly.  


"Angel, are you alright?" Crowley's brow furrowed.  


"Me? I'm tiptop, I was only-" Aziraphale paused. Blinked. "Oh, right." He remembered, now, about Crowley's eyes. He liked to wear sunglasses because his eyes weren't human. But he couldn't quite recall exactly what they looked like. "Well, when the shop's closed, you might as well leave them off. It's just us here, after all."  


Crowley just looked at him. After a pause, he slowly took off his shades and tossed them onto the table, revealing a pair of brilliant yellow eyes with sharp snake like pupils. Those eyes were tight, squinting at Aziraphale suspiciously.  


Aziraphale didn't regard the unspoken questions, and instead found himself enthralled in Crowley's unique eyes. He felt like he was seeing them for the first time, and in a way, because he couldn't remember having seen them before, he was.  


"Er." Crowley, not being a mind reader, did not know quite why Aziraphale was staring at him so intently, but he did know that it was making him uncomfortable. 

"Angel, what is wrong with you?"  


"Well, my dear, I fear I quite forgot how lovely your eyes are."  


"Ngk."  


"I'll endeavor to not forget again."  


"Uh, right, so then, your memory?" Crowley cleared his throat, keeping his gaze decidedly away from Aziraphale. "You're forgetting things again?'  


"Oh, no no." He gave a nervous, unconvincing laugh. "It was just this once, no need to dwell on it, my dear."  


This scenario would play itself out again and again, the angel asking a seemingly innocent question, before remembering the answer himself, or Crowley gently reminding him.

He forgot Beelzebub.  


Crowley had brought them up. “I thought I saw Beelzebub today, but I’m sure it was just my imagination…”  


“What is that?” Aziraphale asked.  


“What’s what?”  


“A beetle-buzz.”  


“No, I said Beelzebub. Y’know, Lord of Hell?” Crowley’s brow furrowed.  


“I’m afraid I don’t- Oh! Oh, yes, I do know who you mean. Terribly sorry, do continue. You thought you saw them? How strange…” Aziraphale distracted the demon by asking what Beelzebub might be doing on Earth.

He forgot about Crowley’s second form.  


“When did you get that tattoo?” Aziraphale had asked, noticing the mark as Crowley sat down next to him.  


“It’s not a tattoo.” Crowley said patiently. “I’m a snake, remember angel?”  


“O- oh yes, of course I remember, so sorry dear.”

He forgot that Crowley was an occult being.  


“Crowley, would you be a dear and fetch me my book I left over by you?” Crowley snapped, and the book found itself on the desk in front of Aziraphale. Aziraphale jumped, startled. “How did you do that???”  


Crowley looked at Aziraphale with a pained expression, frown etched deep into his features. “I’m a demon. I can do stuff like that.”  


Aziraphale scoffed and started to argue, before stopping himself and shaking his head. “No, no, you’re right.” He chuckled nervously. “How odd, me thinking you were human for a moment.”

He forgot that he was supposed to be searching for an angelic text.  


“How’s your search coming along?” Crowley had asked, returning to the shop after a day bustling about town.  


“Search for what?” Aziraphale asked in return, greeting Crowley from between the shelves with a warm smile.  


“Uh, the book. Journal. Whatever you call it.”  


“Do you mean Da Vinci’s notebooks? I hadn’t thought I’d told you I’d misplaced them.” Aziraphale laughed. “Either way, yes I found them. They’re back up where they should be, top shelf over there.” He waved his hand towards the back of the shop.  


Crowley just sighed. “Armaros. I meant Armaros’ journal.”  


“I don’t believe I…” A pause. “Oh, goodness…”

Crowley felt helpless each time this happened. He couldn’t do anything except jog Aziraphale’s memory and wait for him to remember. Even if it never took long, it was still terrifying for the both of them, and Crowley couldn’t stand not being able to do anything about it. And to make matters worse, in terms of finding a solution to Aziraphale's growing problems, they had hit a wall. Anathema couldn't find anything, even after visiting her great aunt to rifle through her old collections. Aziraphale had traced down an ancient scroll through the heart of Africa, Crowley in tow, only to be sorely disappointed that it was purely human history (the scroll now resides in his shop nonetheless). And Crowley, to his credit, had visited hell, sneaking into Dagon's office while they were gone to rifle through their old papers to see if he could find anything useful. Turns out hell had quite a bit of info on watchers, but it was nothing they didn't already know.  


Crowley's already miniscule hope was all but gone, only clinging to life on the back of Aziraphale's. He wanted nothing more than to fling Aziraphale back into heaven. He was willing to venture up there himself, ride right up the escalator into a figurative lion's den to make sure Aziraphale stayed put. But he had promised Aziraphale he wouldn't until it was truly the last resort, and while demons weren't known for keeping their word, Crowley's word was a bit different, particularly when given to a certain angel.  


So he did the only thing he could do, what he had been doing for the past three months: make sure Aziraphale was at least taking care of his physical needs. Eating and sleeping came easily to Aziraphale, but Crowley often felt the need to remind him of other things, like drinking water, or taking breaks from leaning over his books. Crowley had even taken to driving a bit slower with Aziraphale, as it made him sick when Crowley whipped through turns and jolted to stops. Only so he wouldn't throw up in his Bentley, of course.


	8. Chapter 8

Crowley was outside Anathema and Newt's cottage, sitting on the bench, when the sound of bike tires skating to a stop made him turn his head. Adam and his three friends had rounded onto the path, and were hopping off to walk the last few steps to the cottage.  


“Hullo,” said Brian. "We haven't seen you around in a long time."  


"Where's Mr. Fell?" Pepper asked, almost at the same time.  


"Inside, last I checked." Crowley replied with a small wave to Brian.  


"Well, why are you out here?" Wensleydale asked.  


"I told you before, he's a demon and the witch has warding against him," Adam interjected, barely suppressing an eye roll.  


"He's right," Crowley said, tossing his head back. "Big scary evil demon, I am. I wouldn't wanna mess with me, were I you."  


"Don't you ever get tired of the same game?" Pepper huffed. "Come _on_ boys, I want to eat."  


"Newt invited us for lunch today," Brian explained to Crowley as they filed past to the door.  


"How neighborly."  


When Adam rapped on the door, Anathema flung it open quickly and ushered them inside, before stepping out herself and marching up to Crowley.  


"I'm not taking down the warding, so you can't come in for lunch,” she began.  


"Oh, naturally. I don't eat anyways."  


She pressed on. "I have a picnic table at the back of the house. It's a nice enough day, we'll be eating outside. So follow me."  


Crowley sighed and stood up, resignation etched into his features. He knew he certainly didn't have to do what she was telling him to, but he also knew that she had a very bullheaded personality, similar to Aziraphale in a way, and what she wanted, she was bound to get. Perhaps that's why he took a liking to her, despite her anti-demon decor.  


Circling around the house, they found themselves in a small fenced in yard, precisely kept, with a luxurious garden weaving through the back half. The front half was mostly porch and table. A large rectangular wooden picnic table, just like what you might find at a park, was dressed up with a cloth and flowers, food trays and icy pitchers filling the center.  


"Before it could only sit four or five people." Anathema said, seeming proud of the set up. "Aziraphale expanded it so all eight of us could sit comfortably. What a sweetheart."  


"Oh yeah, he's a real angel." Crowley gave a smirk at his own joke. "Oh, and do remember, the brats call him Mr. Fell. I'm Anthony." Crowley didn't much care one way or another, but Aziraphale did.  


"Yes, I know, so does Newt. But why go by different names? I'm sure your real names aren't too much trouble for them."  


"Angel thinks the kids are too young to handle knowing a real demon and angel. Even though they fought the horseman, _no_, angels and demons are far too much, even just the names." Crowley shook his head.  


Anathema snickered. "Well, I suppose we'll just knuckle down and do it 'Mr. Fell's' way."  


Sitting around the table, Brian, Wensleydale, and Newt were discussing the probability of an invincible smartphone, while Pepper and Aziraphale spoke of where they would like to travel, and where they had already been. Adam wasn't talking about anything, because he was preoccupied sneaking Dog some turkey under the table. Anathema and Crowley seated themselves, Anathema across from Newt and beside Wensleydale, and Crowley beside Aziraphale and across from Adam.  


"Anything?" Crowley asked Aziraphale.  


"Yes." Aziraphale dabbed the corner of his mouth. "But let's discuss it after lunch. Which, by the way," he raised his voice from a whisper, "is wonderful, Anathema, thank you so very kindly."  


This produced a chorus of well mannered 'thank you's from the children, and Anathema waved it away, smiling sweetly. "Of course, it was nothing, really. I don't get the opportunity to make food for other people frequently, so it's a treat."  


At Aziraphale's silent insisting, Crowley ate a single small finger sandwich, which tasted like ham and mustard. He did not enjoy it, but kept a neutral face just the same. He sipped some lemonade to clean out the taste of mustard, but the sour flavor that the drink produced wasn't much better. Crowley just didn't get food. He was at least relieved he didn't grab the cinnamon apples, or he might have gagged.  


Aziraphale, on the other hand, tried each type of sandwich, along with small helpings of most of the sides. Watching him, it was easy for Crowley to tell exactly what he liked and didn't like. Aziraphale took a bite of the turkey sandwich, and after finishing the one bite immediately set it down in favor of trying something else. That might seem like he didn't like it, but Crowley was certain that it meant the exact opposite. Aziraphale would eat everything else he wanted to, and come back to that last.  


As the midday meeting turned to afternoon, and everyone was wrapping up their meals and conversations, Crowley found that he was correct, and Aziraphale polished off the turkey sandwich before wiping his mouth and rising to help Newt clear the table.  


Crowley excused himself and went up to Anathema, who was shooing Dog away from her garden.  


"Aziraphale said you guys found something. He didn't want to talk about it at the table. Don't think I can stand waiting much longer, though."  


Anathema grinned. "Friend of a friend's husband's uncle. Archaeologist. Found an old stone slab, water damaged and in an unknown language, old enough that no one is sure of the real date, or if it's even possible to be as old as it looks. They're trying to decipher it without transporting it because the stone looks ready to crumble. Get this- they found it in a Sao archeological site in Africa! It's the oldest thing they've found yet, it predates everything else surrounding it."  


"Well, that sounds... interesting," Crowley said, fingers tapping on his leg. Aziraphale had finished helping Newt, and approached Anathema and Crowley. "You said they won't transport it?"  


"No, at least not from what I've heard. Too fragile."  


"Well then angel, fancy a trip to Africa?"  


Aziraphale gave a small, fluttery smile. "Ah, good to see your all caught up. Anathema, thank you for a lovely day, I've quite enjoyed your company, and you could offer the same gratitude towards Newt."  


"I take it your leaving then?" she asked.  


"Yes, it seems Crowley and I have some traveling to do, and I'd like to shake a leg, before it starts getting dark."  


"You know I could just snap and we'd be there."  


"Well yes I know, my dear, but I'd like to stop by the shop beforehand to get a few things to bring along."  


Crowley grumbled, but he and Aziraphale said their goodbyes to the others before getting in the Bentley and driving back to Soho.


	9. Chapter 9

The stone slab rested on Aziraphale's desk, enclosed in a glass case. Two different strength magnifying glasses sat beside it, and a rather small book of symbols lay open on the opposite side, along with a scroll and feather quill. It was very late, but Aziraphale was not asleep. Instead, he sat in front of his work, sipping a cup of tea, taking a small break. He was rewriting everything from the stone to his parchment, double checking certain words that were very faded and worn with his book, before scribing them. The language was not one that any human knew, for it was the language used by angels before humans had been conceived.  


Crowley was stretched out on the couch, glass of hard liquor swirling in his hand. He had been nursing the same glass for an hour now, and seemed more interested in sleeping than drinking.  


"You got me on a schedule and now you're mucking it up," Crowley complained.  


"You don't even need sleep, dear."  


"Yes, well, I'm used to it now."  


"Then go to bed."  


Crowley scoffed. "No thank you, just hurry on with the slab so I can return it." They had stolen (“borrowed,” as Aziraphale said) the stone and Crowley was planning to return it that same night, before the archeologists returned the next morning.  


"Patience, Crowley, I'm almost done."  


"Isn't patience a virtue? Gross. Think I'll stick to being very _im_patient."  


Aziraphale gave a little huff, and set down his tea in favor of picking up the quill. "If my tea goes cold, you will be brewing me another cuppa."  


"Why?" Crowley whined. "I could just heat that one back up, good as new."  


"It doesn't taste the same."  


"Yes it does."  


"Oh hush. Let me focus. Unless you didn't want me to hurry and finish after all?" Aziraphale gave a self-satisfied grin.  


Crowley groaned and twisted over onto his stomach, his glass forgotten on the table beside his shades. He buried his face into the soft fabric of the blanket draped messily over the arm of the couch, and mumbled to himself about passive aggressive angels.  


It took a couple more hours, but Aziraphale finished, and sat back in his chair, eyes heavy.  


“Crowley,” he said softly.  


Crowley popped his head up. "Done, angel?" He rose from the couch, scrubbing a hand over his face and grabbing his sunglasses. "I'll take the thing back.”  


Aziraphale nodded, re-reading his recreation of the stone's content. Crowley began reaching for the tablet, but paused.  


“Angel, are you alright?” He asked.  


“Hm? Oh, just fine. Tired, that’s all.” Aziraphale gave a weak smile.  


Crowley furrowed his brow. “I can wait to return it, if you’d prefer.”  


“Nonsense, go on and take care of it so we won’t have to worry about it later. I’ll survive another few minutes.”  


Crowley nodded, carefully took the stone out of the case, and vanished with a snap. Aziraphale slumped over his desk the moment he was alone, and let out a shuddering sigh. The stone tablet was Armaros' journal, but it wasn't long enough to be considered a novella as it had been in Aziraphale's research. If anything, it was simply a message. A message for angels who were headed down the same path he had.  


In fact, it was a warning.

_God created humans and we were to love them, but not envy their existence, worship them, or want their status. I have gone against Her commands and for this I will be punished. I spoke with the Lord and She is absolute. After, I was no longer able to feel her love. The emptiness aches more than any wound ever could. My wings will no longer manifest, and I write this in hopes that I can preserve some memories of my own angelic nature, though even now I begin to forget my own name. I am past the point of redemption. I grow weaker each day, and I fear that my time draws near. Praise be to Her, and may my now mortal soul be forgiven these transgressions. I must now rest, as humans do. If this writing ends here, I have either forgotten and cannot regain my memory, or the Lord has taken pity on me and allowed my mortal body's sleep to be unending._

Aziraphale read and reread the block of text, and when he had committed it to memory, he rose and went to pour himself a rather generous serving of liquor. His eyes watered, but no tears fell. He felt his face warm, and as he took a long sip, he felt the muscles in his throat tighten. He blinked excessively, and poured himself a second glass.  


"Aziraphale? Wh- What did it say?" Crowley had appeared back in the shop, now empty handed and wide eyed, seeing the angel’s distressed expression.  


Aziraphale gave a wobbly smile. "Armaros unfortunately didn't find a way back into God's good graces." He threw back another glass, grimacing slightly. "I- He went full mortal, became a watcher, I suppose." His eyes would not leave the ground.  


"So, there's really no other way?" Crowley's voice dripped in sympathy. Although he hadn't much belief, it was still terrible to see Aziraphale's snubbed.  


"Seems to me that if there was another way, no angel has yet to find it. And I haven't the time to." Aziraphale shook his head. "I must confess, Crowley, I am suppose to be a being of love, but I'm not able to sense it like I use to. It’s still there, but muted, as though it’s dying… And Armaros... He spoke of feeling Her love fading, as well." Aziraphale finally looked at Crowley. "He felt it fade away completely shortly before his wings..." He trailed off.  


"Right, okay then, off to Heaven with you.You said it yourself, this is the endgame, no more time to twiddle our thumbs." Crowley said hastily. He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to drag you, so if you would come on?"  


"Give me a moment, please.” Aziraphale said sharply, voice cracking. “It's in the dead of night, I'm exhausted, I'd like a chance to say goodbye to my entire livelihood before being whisked away."  


"Fine then, tomorrow, first thing?"  


"Tomorrow, second or third thing," Aziraphale corrected.  


Crowley shook his head. "We really ought to go now, y'know. Why risk damaging yourself further? It makes no s-"  


"Because, Crowley, I'd like to say goodbye to the people we've made friends with, and quite frankly I'm not exactly mentally prepared to face those...those... wankers upstairs." Aziraphale had turned very pink by this point, and if Crowley didnt know him better, he seemed almost to the point of blows.  


Crowley relented. "A day. That's it angel, I'm serious. You've got a day to tie up loose ends, then we're off."  


"That's all I need."


	10. Chapter 10

It was one of the worst days of Crowley's very long life, and Crowley had had many terrible days. The Apocalypse-that-Wasn't, the day the Great Flood swept away entire civilizations, the day he fell... This day ranked among those in level of horribleness.  


It was terrible when Aziraphale fretted over his bookshop, and Crowley found himself promising to look after it, even though that was the last thing he wanted to do.  


It was terrible when he had to sit and listen to Aziraphale tell Madame Tracy that he was returning to heaven, and that he would miss her dearly.  


It was terrible when he had to listen to him lie to Newt and the Them that he was moving to Italy, and he wasn't sure when he would be up their way again.  


It was terrible to hear him begin to repeat the lie to Anathema, before stuttering to a pause and looking at Crowley in confusion, asking why they were headed to Italy in the first place.  


It was terrible when he had to quietly remind Aziraphale that he was an angel, and see his incredulous look before his memories abruptly jammed themselves back into his head.  


It was terrible when Anathema gave Crowley the most pitying look he's sure he's ever seen, before wishing Aziraphale good luck in Heaven. Crowley hadn't the heart to sneer at her in return, instead just nodding and turning to leave.  


And it was so very terribly terrible when Aziraphale asked, "I know it's a bit early, but, shall we have one last dinner at the Ritz? I think that'd be a fitting end."  


Crowley obliged, of course. He always did. He sat quietly and simply watched as Aziraphale ordered his favorites, and sampled all of them in turn, as though it were his first time tasting them. He listened as Aziraphale made small talk, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. He held back tears as Aziraphale finished, thanked the waiter profusely, and stood to leave. Crowley wasn't ready for the meal to end.  


What was the most terrible, was that Crowley didn't get his own goodbye. He had planned it out in his head, telling the angel that he'd sneak into Heaven to bring him the good food, and that it wasn't really goodbye because Crowley wouldn't let it be. He didn't get to hear Aziraphale chastise him for saying such things, and assure him that there was no need to get sappy, because Aziraphale would visit as much as he could, and there were always phones, if he could miracle up one that worked in heaven. He didn't get any of this, because as they went along the crosswalk to Crowley's car, another vehicle ran the stoplight and swerved around the two.  


Well, the driver attempted to swerve around them. Instead the driver sent themselves into a tailspin, and the side of the car hit Aziraphale full on, even as Crowley tried to yank him out of the way. Time seemed to slow. Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he was ripped from Crowley's grasp by the force of the vehicle. He crumpled to the pavement, head hitting gravel with no small amount of force, lower body pinned under the car.  


The luck of it all, the pure chance, the coincidence and probability and likelihood and odds... Crowley screamed, grabbing Aziraphale's limp form and lifting the car up so he could tug the angel out from underneath. Crowley shot every nasty word in every language he knew towards God Herself. This was Her fault, She must have done this intentionally, the timing was too precise, too exact. Crowley couldn’t hold in his tears. He held his trembling hand up to the angel's face, over his mouth and nose. He didn’t want to look any lower, he could already feel the warmth from Aziraphale’s blood pooling at his knees.  


He was still breathing.  


Crowley heard bypassers asking frantic questions, yelling at the driver, calling for an ambulance. He tuned them all out, and instead used all his focus to miracle himself and Aziraphale to the only place he knew could help Aziraphale now.  


He found himself at the top of the escalator to Heaven, on the very edges of forbidden territory. He reasonably shouldn't have even been able to miracle himself up the escalator into Heaven, only to the bottom, but then, Crowley wasn't one to follow the rules.  


An angel who had been crossing in front of the escalator froze upon seeing the two appear.  


"What the-"  


"Get help, now," Crowley choked out. "Please, get help or so help me I'll burn you all alive." He had nothing to back up this threat of course, but it still seemed to get the angel moving, and Crowley was alone, clutching his angel close to his chest. Within minutes, Gabriel and Uriel stood over Crowley and Aziraphale.  


“Please…” Crowley’s voice broke. Aziraphale stirred in his arms faintly.  


"Honestly, you two are nothing but trouble," Uriel began. "Frankly I'm shocked he didn't turn native much sooner. Still, better late than never."  


"I told you it wouldn't take long for Aziraphale to return," Gabriel said to Uriel, not acknowledging Crowley's presence. "He's not cut out for the vagabond lifestyle."  


Crowley’s eyes were trained on Aziraphale’s face. He silently begged the angel to wake up, just for a moment, to let him say goodbye.  


Uriel rolled their eyes and waved a hand in a sharp, unenthused motion.  


Aziraphale was gone.  


“No-” Crowley gasped, bloodied hands now grasping at air.  


Crowley, shaking, eyes still spilling over, stood up and found his voice again. "Where is he? What are you going to do with him?" The knot in his throat made it hard to sound demanding.  


"That's a stupid question," Gabriel snorted. "We're gonna heal his vessel."  


Crowley waited a moment, then replied, "And?"  


Gabriel's smile grew wider. "Oh, silly me. We're gonna heal his vessel, then wipe his memory and restore his damaged celestial might, making him a proper angel again."  


"Wipe his memory?" Crowley repeated weakly.  


"What, you didn't think we were going to let him remember frolicking about with a _demon_, did you?" Uriel said, venom in their voice. "Like we need a double agent running around up here. No, we're going to purge all the damage you and those humans have caused, and he's going to be much less trouble because of it."  


"It's for his own good, too. He's still a traitor to Heaven. He ought to be dead. Without his memories of you and Earth, he won't remember messing up the Apocalypse, and so he will still be loyal to Heaven. Also, he won't have any reason to want to go back to Earth and endanger himself further. You really ought to thank us," Gabriel continued.  


Crowley wanted to punch his stupid smug face. Crowley did not do this. Partly because he was outnumbered and quite literally a fish out of water. But also because he believed that Gabriel was right, no matter how sorely he wished he wasn't.  


Crowley felt exhaustion closing in around him. "Just..." Just what, he thought to himself. Just make him better? Just take care of him? Just keep him safe? It was all too obvious and cliche to say.  


"Just get out," Uriel suggested. "Before we throw you out... _again_."  


"Ouch, okay, that was a low blow," Crowley complained, sniffing and attempting to regain some form of composure. "I've already had a bad day, then you've both gone and made it worse." Uriel took a single step toward him. "Heyheyhey, alright, I'm... I'm leaving." He gave one last look past the two angels, as though he could see Aziraphale behind the white walls and empty space that filled the area behind them. He shook his head, and snapped his fingers. He was back on Earth, now standing beside his car. He could hear sirens at his back, a block away, where only moments ago… Even though he knew that wasn't really how it worked, he looked up into the sky and hoped heaven would nurse Aziraphale back to health... Even at the expense of his memory.  


Crowley felt fresh tears welling in his eyes. He looked back at his car... and decided driving was just too much to ask of himself. Instead he waved a hand weakly and teleported himself to Aziraphale's bookshop. He looked around upon arriving. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt full of emotion and yet empty all at once. Everything around him was Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale. He couldn’t stand being here, and yet could think of nowhere else he wanted to go. He was scared to touch anything in the shop, to change anything Aziraphale had done. He could almost feel Aziraphale in the shop, but he knew he wasn’t.  


He took a deep breath, held it, and closed his eyes. _He’s not dead,_ he reminded himself, _just in Heaven. They’ve probably miracled him healed by this point. He’s just fine._  


He opened his eyes again and exhaled. The blood on his hands and jeans wasn’t helping with calming down, so he miracled it away. He turned the fireplace on low, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet. He had no idea what he was going to do with himself without Aziraphale, the one being that he had been able to go back to since the beginning of time as a concept, but he knew what he was going to do tonight; drink himself into oblivion, and hopefully not wake up again for a ridiculously long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of this work, but i'll start publishing the sequel in the not too distant future!
> 
> admittedly it's been delayed because the plot took on a life of it's own and i'm having to rework a LOT of the later chapters, but i'm really excited to start publishing it bc this first part ended so rough.
> 
> the sequel is turning out to be a bit longer too, so please look forward to it!


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